


he's the fucking Sun

by the_boy_and_his_wolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Pack Meetings, Prom fic, and stiles isn't obvious enough, derek is dumb about feelings, just rambling tbh, mostly - Freeform, realisation of love, sterek, sterek fluff, until the end of season two, very brief malia/isaac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:12:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_boy_and_his_wolf/pseuds/the_boy_and_his_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Derek is very distracted by Stiles' mouth, suspiciously invested in his dating life and adores the way he smells but there's no fucking way he has a crush, OK?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	he's the fucking Sun

**Author's Note:**

> this is, honest to God, the product of me + an ANCIENT Delta Goodrem album, an entire tube of pringles, a good fourteen million cups of tea, a dissertation to procrastinate from and a WHOLE LOT of Sterek emotions. 
> 
> (also, I know that in December of senior year, Stiles would technically still be seventeen. but I'm moving his birthday up by a few months because I have the power here.)
> 
> enjoy!

Derek's loft is filled with excitable teenagers. Which is nothing new, granted. Every weekday night (and a fair few weekend nights, too), Scott, Stiles, Allison, Lydia, and Isaac come over. The excuse is that they need ‘pack meetings’, but in truth, they just come over and play video games and chill out away from their parents. In fact the only time they donn't actually have these ‘pack meetings’ is when there are legitimate pack situations, like their recent run-in with a Wendigo pack. For this reason Derek doesn't really mind, if he has a group of teenagers taking over his couch and eating his food and occasionally drinking his beer, it just means that said group of teenagers are currently not being hunted by supernatural creatures. And Derek would be lying if he says that he doesn't enjoy the company.

Tonight, however, said teenagers are particularly excitable, and Derek is very close to snapping at them all to shut the fuck up. Their winter prom is the next day, Lydia and Allison have been talking about how to wear a particular dress sash for the past twenty minutes, and there are some things Derek just cannot be bothered to hear. Not that the boys are much better. If he hears Scott explaining how grey suits are _in_ one more time he will have to have him physically removed from the premises. 

“Whatever you want to tell yourself, man,” Stiles scoffs, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.

“You think it was a bad decision?” Scott furrows his eyebrows and Derek sees Stiles notice and sigh, and he knows that he's damning the other boy’s puppy-dog face.

 “No, you’ll look great, Scott. Allison’s a lucky girl.”

Allison looks up from her conversation with Lydia and smiles. It's a sickeningly sweet smile, full of love and admiration. She stands up and walks over from the kitchen side to the couch, curling in at Scott’s side. “I am,” she agrees.

Derek clears his throat. “Are the rest of you just going as a group?” he asks.

Lydia scoffs. “I've not gone to the prom without a date since the sixth grade, I'm not about to now.”

“Nah, we've all actually got dates, for once.” Scott says, as if he can't quite believe that's the current situation. 

Derek looks at Isaac, who is sitting right on the edge of the couch, playing something on the Xbox with so much concentration that his eyes are popping out of his skull. Looks at Scott who seems so dopily _happy_ that Allison is snuggling him, even though they’ve been a steady couple for a good year now. Looks at Stiles who is shoving food into his mouth like he hasn't eaten for weeks, using his tongue to get stray bits of cheesy powder off the corner of his lips and Derek, also, can't quite believe that they all have dates.

“Yeah, dude, I'm going with the _hottest_ girl in our year,” Isaac says enthusiastically, pausing his game for a second to turn and grin at Derek.

“Present company excluded,” Lydia quips. “Obviously.”

“ _Obviously,”_ Isaac rolls his eyes. “But Malia is super-hot.”

“Are you two” Derek nods his head between Lydia and Stiles, “going together?”

Stiles’ crush on Lydia is a lot less obvious now that he isn't so intimidated by her, He still seems completely in awe of her sometimes, like when she comes up with a flawless plan or when she flips her hair or puts on lip gloss, but Derek doesn't think he in _in love_ with her the way it had once been. It is something Derek pays very close attention to. Just so he can keep an eye on things that might change the dynamics of the pack. 

“I actually asked Stiles,” Lydia says, casting a glare in Stiles' direction. “But he’d already been asked. Which meant I had to go through the ordeal of choosing another guy from our school who doesn't make me want to kill myself out of boredom every time he speaks.”

Stiles grins guiltily, licking the chip powder off his lips, which is distracting. Stiles’ mouth is always distracting because it is always _doing something._ He is forever chewing on something, or licking something, or worrying his lips beneath his teeth and, well, Derek finds it very hard to focus when he is doing that, sometimes.

“You know you’re my number one, Lydia, you were just too slow, too many women after this undeniable charm.”

The others laugh but Derek is caught up with trying to explain the sinking feeling in his stomach that Stiles isn't going to the prom with Lydia. It wouldn't be a romantic thing with Lydia, it would be two friends going to the prom together to humour the crush one of them had on the other for a good few years of his life. But if Stiles is going with another girl, someone Derek doesn't know, she will probably notice the mouth thing too. Stiles will most definitely chew on the straw from his punch, or something, and she will probably notice, and probably find it massively arousing and she will definitely want to kiss him. Stiles has very, very kissable lips.

“What’s up, Sourwolf?” Stiles’ voice, dripping with something that sounded like amusement, pulls Derek out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You look like something’s eating you up? Is this prom talk making you feel old? Are you reminiscing your prom dates? Did you and your girl jive to ‘Lollipop’?” Stiles eyes are gleaming.

“My senior prom was in 2006, asshole.”

“And? Who did you take? Which girl was wooed by the Hale charm?”

 “No one, I didn't go.”

 “Why the fuck not?” Stiles asks, outraged. “Let me guess, you think it’s a dumb tradition. Fuck the patriarchy, right?”  

 “My girlfriend at the time wasn't the same age as me,” Derek says, looking straight at Stiles. “I was fucking Kate Argent when the rest of my year were at our senior proms.”

Derek hears Allison muttering disgustedly under her breath, but doesn't pay much attention. His attention is taken by Stiles, whose mouth has formed a perfect ‘O’, whose eyes have widened. It's nearly comical and Derek might have laughed, but then Stiles shuts his mouth again and swallows hard, and then Derek is too distracted by his Adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat to laugh.

“You'd score more bro points for that if we weren't all completely aware of what an asshat Kate Argent is,” Stiles finally grumbles, and Derek finds himself smirking as Stiles turns back to his chips with a slight flush on his cheeks. The smirk disappears when he realises that someone else is going to be causing him to flush like that tomorrow night.

And, fuck, that is something Derek knows he shouldn't care about at all.

“That girl who asked you is super pretty, Stiles,” Allison says, out of the blue, which annoys Derek because literally no body asked. “Her name’s Jessica, right?”

“Jess, yeah, she’s in my calc class,” Stiles says. “She said she noticed me because I sit in front of her. She thinks my moles are cute.”

Derek has to bite his tongue to stop himself saying _well I could have told you that._

 

          When they all start to leave it’s nearing midnight and Derek's so fucking sick of all the prom talk that he welcomes it with open arms. He’s holding the door open for everyone, which might seem like a he’s being a perfect gentleman, but in reality he just found out weeks ago that by holding the door open they take it as an indication to leave and do so, rather than standing and talking some more in the hallway for another hour.

“See you tomorrow, Sourwolf,” Stiles says, then he stops and frowns. “Well, I guess I won’t see you tomorrow, actually.” He pauses and looks Derek in the eyes as if he’s waiting for him to say something. Which, what the fuck? What the fuck does he want him to say? _No, you’re right Stiles, you’ll most probably be fucking_ Jessica _this time tomorrow night, and I’d rather you snuck around in your own bedroom for that, thank you very much._ Well Derek certainly wasn't going to say that. He didn't want to put any ideas in Stiles’ head if they aren't already there. “Hm, well, see you soon. Try not to miss me too much.”

“I’ll miss you like a hole in the head, Stiles.”

“Oh _wow._ You kill me with your wit, dude,” Stiles deadpans, rolling his eyes and walking away.

Lydia laughs softly and Derek turns in surprise because he thought she’d left first with Allison and Isaac.

“What?” he frowns.

“You two are fucking ridiculous,” she says. “He doesn't _like_ Jessica you know? I mean, I'm sure he thinks she’s hot, because she bloody is, and I'm sure he’ll probably go home with her tomorrow night. But there’s no feelings there, he’s going with her because she asked. That’s it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Lydia looks at him for a few seconds like he’s crazy and then she just sighs irritably. “I don’t know, I guess I'm just trying to tell you things that'll push you to fucking _do_ something about the stupid-ass crush you have on Stiles.”

And then she just flounces out, flicking her hair behind her shoulder as she does so, leaving her smell burning in Derek’s nose and her words burning in Derek’s head.

 

Derek finds himself going for a run as soon as the sun comes up the next day. There isn't much use in trying to go back to sleep once he’s woken up because the sound of Lydia’s words are banging around in his head like by saying what she said she'd let something loose up there and now it wouldn't fucking calm down.

“Stupid-ass crush”, she’d said. _What the heck is that supposed to mean?_ Derek is deep into the woods now, but the icy air id doing nothing to clear his mind. He does not have a crush on Stiles, obviously, but say he _does,_ what about it would make it a “stupid-ass” crush, as opposed to a totally dignified crush? 

Was Lydia implying that to have a crush on Stiles was stupid, or that Derek was so obvious that it was stupid? The former, surely, since Derek couldn't be obviously crushing on someone he isn't even crushing on.

Jesus, Stiles is just a _kid._ A hyperactive, sarcastic kid that can't take no for an answer. That spends hours forming well thought-out plans and then completely shooting them to hell when instinct takes over, when he does something so fucking stupidly _brave_ and puts himself in danger like that's going to do anything to help. It drives Derek absolutely insane because Scott doing things like that is one thing, but Stiles, who is 150 pounds of incredibly breakable skin and bones shouldn't even be involved in all the supernatural shit that he is always involved in, but definitely shouldn't be involved so deeply that he can get hurt. Definitely shouldn't be making rash decisions that put him right in harm's way, like he does. 

And just because the thought of Stiles getting hurt because of Derek and his pack makes him feel sick to his stomach doesn't mean he has a crush. It means that he has a fucking conscience, OK?

He stops running and leans over his legs to catch his breath. He’d been running so fast and thinking so much that he hadn't even noticed how far he’d come. The trees around him are packed densely together, and even though most of their leaves are now brown sludge beneath Derek’s feet, they are still doing a good job at blocking out the early morning sun. Derek sighs. All this thinking about Stiles is redundant, anyway. Because even if Lydia is right, and Derek does have a stupid – fucking ridiculous – crush, which he does _not,_ there is no way it could ever happen. 

There are a million reasons that Derek could never ever be with Stiles. Stiles is … God he is the opposite to Derek in so many ways it's almost laughable that they've managed this begrudging friendship. Stiles is like the sun. And that isn't Derek stupidly crushing, it's just a fact. He brightens up any and all situations because as much as Derek wants to punch the kid sometimes when he makes sarcastic jokes in life and death situations, and when he mocks Derek’s ‘brooding’ and calls him ‘sourwolf’, when there’s someone around like that, who demands attention so adamantly, it’s so easy to be distracted from the doom and gloom they so often find themselves in. Stiles is distracting. And it is so obvious how the whole pack need that distraction sometimes.

But where Stiles is the sun, Derek is fucking... dark clouds, or some other, equally depressing, analogy. Stiles needs someone who can let him shine and Derek just isn't that person. He can't help the way he is, he can't help that he glares more than he smiles, that he is negative in all the ways Stiles is positive. He’s come to accept the fact that his parents death has well and truly fucked him, psychologically, and that is just the way it is going to be. But no fucking way does Stiles deserve to be dragged into that.

Besides all of this, there is no way Stiles wants Derek. Shit, Derek doesn't even think he is into guys, he’s only ever dated girls as far as Derek is aware. And these are the type of things he stays aware of. Sure, he sometimes noticed Stiles’ eyes lingering a little hard but as soon as it was over he’d always assumed it was in his imagination.

 

  Stiles stays on Derek’s mind for the duration of his run back to the loft, stays on his mind while he makes coffee, stays on his mind while he showers. When Derek closes his eyes to protect it from the shampoo, he pictures Stiles’ face, his honey coloured eyes, which, when reflecting the sun are so bright that Derek has more than once caught himself just stopping, caught in them. They are such a warm colour, so _so_ Stiles. His moles, his ridiculous jawline, his pink, plump lips…

 _Shit,_ Derek realises as he turns off the water and stands there for a moment in the steam. _I am so far gone for_ Stiles. 

 

A couple of hours later, and Derek is still in his towel (despite a fair amount of time having passed since showering – he is an adult man and if he wants to lounge around in a towel all morning after coming to the horrifying realisation that he is sort of a little bit in love with his human pack member, then he can). He is sitting at the dining table doing some research on a pack in Mexico that he’d had some contact with, when his phone starts ringing. His heart stutters slightly when he realises that it's Stiles’ ringtone. And no, of course he hasn't given Stiles his own ringtone – Stiles had given himself his own ringtone. It is a backstreet boys song that Stiles had been delighted about when he found it on Derek’s phone. ( _Guys, Derek has a good taste in music! Who knew?_ )

“Stiles?” he answers. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s _happened,_ dude. Why do you always assume the worst?”

“The last time you called me, you were bleeding out in the woods and Scott was handling a Wendigo on his own.”

And even then he’d acted like there was no urgency. Just a casual ‘we could do with you being over here man’. Derek remembers the sickening fear he’d felt when he arrived to see Scott killing off the last Wendigo and Stiles cowered up against a tree, clutching his side, blood covering his hand and t-shirt. In hindsight it seems ridiculous that he hadn't figured out the whole maybe-I-like-Stiles thing earlier, since he’d ran the kid all the way to the hospital, each step he took feeling more and more like he couldn't breathe because Stiles was possibly _dying in his arms._

“Yeah well I'm not after your wolfy brawn this time, Big Guy. No, I'm actually… do you by any chance have a red tie?” Derek hears a girl’s voice in the background. A girl who isn't Lydia or Allison. “Shit OK, a _crimson_ tie?”

“Um- maybe. I think … yeah, yeah I do.”

“OK great. Scott had a last-minute freak out about the whole grey suit thing, so he decided to go back to black after all, which – thank fuck, right? – but then he decided he needed to change ties too and that mine was perfect so I let him have mine because I'm his _best bro_ but then Jessica said my other tie clashed with her dress – anyway this doesn't really matter. Could I borrow your tie, please? “

 It takes a moment for him to respond because he's so distracted by the stupid way Stiles goes on like that. Why is he so damn _distracting_?

“Yeah, yeah sure.”

“Aw thanks, man. You’re the best. I’m gonna come pick it up on my way later. Is around seven ok?”

“Do you want me to drop it round now? Then you don’t have to bring Jessica all the way round here later.” _And I won’t have to deal with you and your date. Together. Right in front of my eyes where I can’t pretend that it’s not happening._

“No don’t worry, dude, I’ll come over and pick Jess up afterwards.”

“OK.”

“OK?”

“…OK.”

Stiles snorts into the phone. “Maybe ‘OK’ will be our ‘always’.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Stiles says, but Derek can hear the smirk in his voice. “I’ll see you later, man.”

 

            Derek stays on edge all day. He stands up to boil the kettle and make himself coffee a million times just for something to do to calm himself. By seven he has probably consumed his weight in coffee, and he's jittery in a way he hasn't been in a long time, and he thinks he hears Stiles' keep multiple times before he actually does.

He realises afterwards that he should have known it wasn't Stiles’ Jeep because he hadn't smelt Stiles, and that smell was so unmistakeable to him that he wouldn't have confused it. Stiles’ smell is… _God_ it is like catnip to Derek. Reason 192 that Derek should have figured this thing out earlier. Stiles smells of toast and honeycomb underneath fresh Sure Men’s deodorant and Derek often catches himself sniffing instinctively around him, because no matter how much he breaths that smell it always feels like he needs to breathe it _closer._

He's doing that now, sniffing instinctively, he realises. He needs to pull himself together before Stiles knocks on the door, because this is just pathetic. It’s not an attractive trait to sniff your guests.

Derek breathes in deeply one last time before opening the door straight after the first knock.

“I don’t know why I bother knocking. You guys always know.” Stiles says, stepping into the loft and standing slightly awkwardly in the hall.

And Derek's lost for words. Why hadn't he fucking thought about this? Why hadn't he prepared himself that Stiles would be here in a fucking suit? Looking adorable. Aaaand Derek has just used the word ‘adorable’ as a non-ironic adjective for someone. But really, there's no other word for t when Stiles is standing there, messing with the sleeve of his suit jacket, with his top buttons undone, and no tie.

Right, the tie. Derek should have used some of his pent-up energy to find that, earlier.

“Your Jeep sounds like it’s dying, I can hear you from literally a mile off.” Derek says. And good. He doesn't sound like he's dying inside.

“OK, buddy, I'm gonna let that slide because you’re doing me a favour here. But don’t insult my baby.”

Derek snorts. “ _You’re_ insulting that thing by letting it be seen in public. It’s ready to go, man, it’s lived it’s life.”

“Alright, fuck you, Mr. Camaro.” Stiles says, but he's smiling.

“I’ll go and get the tie.”

Derek walks to his bedroom and starts going through his tie draw. He has a lot of ties for someone who hasn't worn a tie in years.

“You have a lot of ties for a guy I've never seen in a tie.”

Derek hadn't been listening to hear Stiles follow him, but he's leaning against the door frame. His eyes scanning the bedroom, lingering on the crumpled sheets of the bed. Maybe it was odd, that he’s been in Derek’s place so many times but never seen his bedroom. But then again, maybe it isn't odd at all. A bedroom is an intimate place. Derek feels self-conscious all of a sudden, worried he’s left boxers on the floor, or god-forbid, lube on the bedside table.

Stiles eyes follows Derek’s to check, and thank god for small mercies, no lube.

“Yeah, I think lots of them used to belong to Peter, I don’t really know how I ended up with them.”

“Ugh, weird to think I might be wearing Peter’s clothing tonight.”

“No, this ones- I think the red one is mine.” For some reason Derek thinks it's important for Stiles to know that. He sort of wants his girl to know, as well, so that when she's ripping it off later… _Fuck._ Derek has accidentally found himself both turned on at the thought of Stiles naked, and angry that he would be doing that with someone else. 

He holds the tie up to Stiles in question. “This good?”

“Yeah perfect, thanks.” Stiles’ voice is weirdly subdued.

He takes the tie from Derek and swings it round his neck, walking towards the mirrors on the wardrobe. He tries a couple of times without tying it successfully before he huffs in frustration and turns to Derek.

“I haven’t worn a real tie in forever.” He says, trying again. “I'm a clip-on kind of guy.”

Derek knows even before he does it that he should definitely not offer to tie Stiles’ tie. But Stiles tries, and fails once again and it is getting horribly endearing, watching him struggle, with his tongue peeking out of his mouth in concentration, so it's a lose-lose situation for Derek anyway.

“Jesus, come here,” he sighs, exasperated.

Stiles looks dumbfounded for a moment, his eyebrows raising. Then he shrugs and walks over to Derek, leaving both ends of the tie dangling. Derek picks them up and ties the tie, quick and easy, then he finds himself flattening the fabric, can feel the toned muscle beneath the thin white shirt. 

He hears Stiles heartbeat stammering in his chest. When he looks up and catches those soft brown eyes in his own, he sees them flicker down to Derek’s lips. And when he sniffs he can smell arousal mixed with that delicious smell of _Stiles._

Then a phone is ringing, and Derek steps back like he’s been burnt, despite the fact that Stiles is making no move to answer it. It isn't until Derek is a good couple of metres back from him, that he finally looks down and pulls his phone from his inside pocket.

“Stiles, are you on your way yet? Dad is freaking out, he wants a picture of us before he heads out to do his night shift.” The girl, Jessica, says as soon as Stiles puts the phone to his ear.

“Just leaving Derek’s now,” Stiles says. “I’ll be there in a few, don’t worry.”

“OK, see you, then.”

Stiles hangs up, then wiggles the phone slightly to Derek. “That was Jessica.”

“Yeah, yeah, I thought as much.” Derek says.

“Her dad works with mine, doing the night shift tonight. I’d better go.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

They walk to the door in silence, once Stiles has opened it and is about to head out, he turns back. “Thanks for, urm, tying the tie. And thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek says softly. “I can’t believe you’re eighteen years old and you can’t even tie a tie.”

Stiles sticks his middle finger up, huffing a laugh. And then he's gone.

 

            Derek was going to leave it alone. He really, really was. He told himself that no matter what _that_ was, Stiles deserves someone a boatload better than Derek, that even if Stiles does feel the same way it wouldn't work, that it would just complicate their already complicated lives. He’d resigned himself to this fact, and was sitting at the dining table with a whisky (because even if he couldn't get drunk he could appreciate the burn of it down his throat.)

But then he thinks of what Jessica had said about the photo her dad wanted to take of her and Stiles. He thinks about what Stiles had said about their dads working together and he starts to feel a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe Lydia was right and Stiles doesn't have feelings for Jessica now, but they were sure to see each other after tonight, and feelings could start. That’s what feelings do, they pop out of fucking nowhere and suddenly you’re consumed.

Maybe they’d go on some follow-up dates, were almost definitely likely to do so if they fucked tonight. And their dads _worked together_ so it would be easy and convenient, their fathers could watch games together and drink beer after meet-the-family dinners and maybe when they were both older Stiles and Jess would go back to Jess’ family home and smile fondly at the prom photo in the doorway.

Derek is aware that he is getting ahead of himself, but all he can think is that even if that isn't going to happen with _this_ girlfriend, it will happen in the future. And when Derek thinks of that, thinks of Stiles living a life with someone else, maybe not even in Derek’s life any more, he finds himself growling, a low, whining growl, his claws digging into the wooden table.

Because this isn't just a “stupid-ass crush”. Lydia was wrong about that. Derek _needs_ Stiles. No one else gets under his skin the way Stiles does. And Stiles pays _attention_ to Derek, he always notices things, important things but also stupid pointless things, like when Derek has gone quiet for a moment, and Stiles makes a dig at him about it but Derek has learnt that it's just his way of checking in, his way of saying ‘hey, you good?’.

Emotions weren't something Derek felt much after the fire, until Stiles came into his life and made him feel _so much._ And sure, those feelings are often irritation, frustration and utter incredulousness but even that is so much more satisfying than the shell of a man he’d been before; only ever feeling hate for everything around him.

That’s why, feeling the most selfish he’s ever felt, Derek stands up, grabs his keys from the kitchen side and sprints out to the Camaro.

 

Ten minutes later and Derek is parked outside the school, feeling stupid. He isn't so much of a dick to run in there and pull Stiles out because even if that’s what Stiles would want – which, long shot – he isn't going to ruin the girl’s senior winter prom.

So he's left just sitting, waiting. He can hear the music if he listenes for it. He vaguely recognises the song (some girl band) and all he can think is that he's thankful that it isn't a song to slow dance to.

Then he realises it could definitely be a song to dirty dance to and, again, the claws are out and digging into things. A couple of hours later and Scott and Allison have already left, both of them looking ready to devour the other. Luckily Scott was so caught up in Allison that he didn't pick up on Derek’s scent and ask him what the fuck he was doing there. Derek didn't even know what he’d tell him if that situation had arose.

He wasn't so fortunate when Isaac and his date come out. Of course Isaac isn't going to miss him, why didn't Derek _think_ about this.

“Derek?” Isaac asks, tapping on the window.

“Hi Isaac, I'm just… I wasn't…” Derek stops trying when he sees the smirk on Isaac’s face. He scans his eyes to the girl standing next to Isaac, a very pretty brunette girl, who looks confused as hell as to why her date has made her approach a random guy’s car. “Why are you smiling?”

“It’s just amusing to see you try and justify this, that’s all.” Isaac says. Derek doesn't like his tone, and is about to ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, when Isaac continues. “He’s fine, you know. Stiles. I know you have this thing where you think you need to be there to protect him all the freaking time, but he’s fine. No harm is going to come to him in there.”

“Yeah,” Derek snarles. “Because your high school is known for being super fucking safe."

Isaac can think what-the fuck-ever he wants about the reasons Derek is there as long as he doesn't know the actual reason. Which would be difficult because even Derek isn't entirely sure of his plan of action.

“Whatever, man,” Isaac laughs. “You keep on doing your Edward Cullen thing. It’s not at all creepy.”

Then he turns around, and his date – Malia? – wiggles her fingers slightly at Derek before the two of them walk off.

Derek starts to really worry about how right Isaac was about him being creepy, and he is ready to start the car and get the fuck out of there when he simultaneously smells Stiles so overwhelmingly, and hears his barking laugh. A minute later, Stiles, his incredibly pretty date and Lydia all come through the double doors of the school. All three of them are doubled over laughing, and Derek would be pressed to believe any of them were entirely sober.

Derek looks at Stiles and he _aches._ Because he looks so brilliantly happy. He is the Sun. Stiles is the fucking Sun and what was Derek _thinking_ , he isn't going to interrupt these kids having the time of their freaking life by spewing _feelings_ onto everything.

He tries to start the car as subtly as possible, but as soon as he does Stiles looks up. Laughter dies on his lips, his eyes widen and he's beginning to call Derek’s name but by that time Derek is out of there.

 

Derek parks the Camaro outside his old house and runs for his freaking life. He runs so much that even his werewolf enhanced strength is beginning to falter when he finally decides that he has run enough to be able to sleep tonight without the thought of Stiles preventing it.

He is just approaching the edge of the woods when he smells it. The smell of toast and honeycomb. He pauses briefly, catching his breath, and then jogs out of the reserve to see Stiles sitting on the doorstep of the blackened house. His tie is loosened, his hair rumpled and he looked fed up.

Although when he sees Derek his expression lifts slightly.

“Hey, buddy!” he exclaims. “Speedy McSpeedinson.”

“What are you doing here, Stiles?”

“Looking for you, duh. I went to your place but you weren't there, obviously, so I figured you’d probably come for a run.” Stiles says, and gestures to the woods loosely. “Anyway, the better question is why were _you_ waiting outside the high school like some creepy predator and then speeding off when we tried to get your attention?”

Shit. What is Derek even supposed to say to that?

“What happened to your date, and Lydia? And, actually, where the hell did Lydia’s date go?” Nothing. That’s what he is going to say to that. Avoid the question like a pro, is what he is going to do.

“Complete question swerve there, fucker.” Stiles says, standing up and walking towards Derek. “Lydia’s date was a fucking asshole, tried to leave with her pretty much straight away and when she refused him he left with his balls between his legs. And Lydia took Jess home so that I could- Well, so I could come and find you.”

Stiles steps back, looking slightly uncertain, sitting back on the step outside the house. He jerks his head as an indication for Derek to sit down, which he does. Stiles smells anxious, he starts to wring his hands together, then he rubs his face and turns suddenly, looking straight into Derek’s eyes.

“You were waiting for me, right?” He asks, a steely determination to his voice.

“I was just-“

“It’s OK,” Stiles interrupts quickly. “If you were waiting for me. You- you didn't have to run off the way you did, though. Or drive off, I guess.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Derek is uncomfortable. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. He doesn't know where he's going to go with this. Stiles had come looking for him, had waited in the freezing December air whilst Derek was running from his feelings – fucking literally – and that has to mean something, right?

“Are you cold?” He asks. Stiles has to be cold.

“ _Derek._ ” Stiles said, and he sounds so exasperated and wound up that it takes Derek by surprise, he whips his head up and Stiles is looking at him so intently that his breath catches in his throat. “Come _on._ ”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Derek admits.

“Dude I was having a fucking great night, OK? It was great, and when I saw you…” he takes a deep breath. “When I saw you I thought that maybe a great night was going to turn into a perfect night. I thought you’d finally… But then you fucking drove _off_ and I didn't want to leave Jess but Lydia insisted and so I came here and I waited for you, and I don’t mind at all. But I need you to fucking _use your words_.”

When saying that last bit, Stiles thumps the decking beneath him with every emphasis, and Derek catches his fist in his own before leaning forward and capturing those full lips in the hungriest kiss he’s ever had. He’s never felt such an intense mixture of relief and fizzling adrenaline than he did in those moments when their lips met and Stiles starts moving his mouth against Derek’s, startes running his warm tongue across his lips. Never has anything felt quite as right as he does pulling Stiles onto his lap and feeling the weight of him. And he’s never felt so empowered as when he catches Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth and hears the most _obscene_ moan.

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek breathes.

“I was wrong, before,” Stiles says, his voice stuttering slightly. “I didn't need you to use your words at all.”

Stiles leans back in for another kiss, and Derek complies standing up with Stiles still in his arms, his legs still wrapped around his waist, their lips still moving together, Stiles' hand tugging his hair with a _need_ that makes Derek’s heart hammer against his ribs.

“I can’t believe you’re going to fuck me in this creepy ass burnt down mansion.” Stiles murmures into his neck. “Romance is dead.”

Derek stops at the base of the stairs and pulls his head back, forcing Stiles to stop biting into the space between his shoulder and his throat and look at him.

“You want me to fuck you?”

And Derek means it as a way of confirming consent because their is no fucking way he is going to let what he assumes to be Stiles’ first time with a guy be something he isn't a hundred percent sure he wants. But the way Stiles respondes, pupils dilating, heart picking up so that it's beating so fast that Derek is mildly concerned, it's obvious his question has sounded more like dirty talk.

“Derek, I can’t even believe- _Yes._ I want this. I've wanted this for ever.” He grabs at Derek’s hair again and tugs. “I thought I was going to _die_ earlier, when you tied my tie and then looked at me with that stupid wolfy glare.”

Derek huffs out a laugh. “You never seemed like you wanted it.”

“Are you _kidding_?” Stiles shakes his head in apparent disbelief. “Lydia and Allison tease me like mad after every single pack meeting we have, about this. Everyone knew but you.” He pauses, looking a little vulnerable. “I definitely shouldn't be telling you this three minutes after our first kiss, right? God, you’d think before sex my brain-to-mouth filter might activate a little.”

Derek dips his head, once again capturing those soft lips, kissing him softly. He hopes it said what he wants it to say; _It’s OK, Stiles. There’s not a thing in the world you could say at this point that would scare me off._

Derek carries on upstairs, to the bedroom he slept in when he first came back to Beacon Hills, and lays Stiles out on the bed. It’s about five orgasms between them before they call it quits. And with each one Derek’s feelings for the beautiful, loud-mouthed (even during sex. _Especially_ during sex) boy beneath him intensifies ten-fold. Every time Stiles stops everything just to drag Derek’s mouth into a deep, slow kiss, he feels like his heart is going to jump right out of his chest. When they wrap their arms around each other and close their eyes and Stiles murmurs softly ‘please tell me this can happen again?’ Derek smiles so widely into the back of Stiles’ neck that it would be embarrassing if he wasn't way too far gone to care.

“I'm taking that as a ‘yes’, you adorable fucking goof-ball.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! this is the first fic i've had the guts to actually publish and I'm actually really intent on improving my writing skills (i'm midway through my third year of uni and have come to the realisation that i may fail. so writing is my plan b) so I know it's not in any way perfect, and i would really REALLY appreciate any constructive criticism. Tell me what about my writing style you like/dislike, ways my writing could have been better, and so on and so forth.
> 
> Come and talk to me on tumblr! I'm the-boy-and-his-wolf :)


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